The Perfect Mary Sue
by perrilloux.bf68
Summary: Thrown into a story she has loved since she was a girl, what happens when a Mary Sue writer finally gets her wish? Love? Adventure? The chance to shine? Perhaps. Sometimes, the biggest lessons can't be taught, they have to be experienced. Be careful, little mouse. Be careful what you wish for. Told in Drabbles. Not a Parody. [7up]
1. Chapter One

**The Perfect Mary Sue**

**Library**

* * *

He had watched her from the beginning of the summer, a mouse hidden in a corner. Nibbling, typing, dreaming, she was easy to pass over like his shop.

There were fifteen libraries in town: the public library, the local bookstore chain (yes, he did count that one), the seven elementary libraries (one for each school), two junior high libraries, two high school libraries, one college library and then there was his shop. Found in an obscure section in one of the town's many obscure little cul-de-sacs, his bookstore was easily forgotten and remarkably easy to lose, like a missing sock or a dropped copper penny. Only the select few could find it, the lucky ones drawn together by fact, chance and careful planning, maybe a mixture of each. Obscure, perfect and proud, this wasn't a problem. Its _lost-ness_ was what made the little bookstore/coffee shop/internet café such a success. It was a treasure, the town's best kept secret, an illusion nestled beneath colors and patterns dizzy and messy yet soft and welcoming. It was more than a business. It was a home at least that is what his customers thought.

* * *

**Oops wrong story. - Calla**


	2. Chapter Two

**The Perfect Mary Sue**

**The Two Martins**

* * *

First, there was the old man, the elderly gentleman who always sat in the back of his shop. He could, most times, be found playing chess with a lanky twenty year old that always seemed to be in a rush to leave. He had asked him, the elder Martin with his neatly trimmed beard and wire-rimmed glasses, why he even bothered teaching him the game. His answer was simple.

"He keeps me company," he said. A smile spread thickly beneath his whiskers. "He's my grandson. Currently, our chess games are his mother's idea. Apparently, he needs to learn a thing or two about patience and culture… mostly patience—her words not mine." He snickered then promptly went back to his paper.

The old man with his regular green sweater and stack of well read daily newspapers was easily his most loyal customer.

So, there was him and his grandson—oh and the other one… well, the other two.

* * *

**- Calla**


	3. Chapter Three

**The Perfect Mary Sue**

**The Twin Imps**

* * *

The imp, as he was apt to call the boy, graced his shelves once every few weeks. Once in a while he would bring in his girlfriend, who always ran up a litany of conversations. At this, the young man would eagerly nod, his salmon colored hair bouncing to the rhythm of her voice pushing past braces, soft lips and piles of sandy brown hair. They were an interesting pair. Born with Down syndrome and an active love for all things foreign, they horded the gambit of Asian novels he ordered every two or three weeks along with his rather sizable collection of comics and graphic novels (of course). According to them, he had all of the titles that the big store downtown never got in or ran out of or the school libraries would refuse to stock. It's why on those seemingly random Saturday afternoons they would often be found going home with a stack of 10 or more novels in toe. Chuckling conspiratorially with each other, their delight was catching just like a two year old with pilfered candy.

They made him chuckle. For the most part, he didn't care, the store owner. He was Japanese and well travelled, elderly himself. It was something of a comfort to have a good section of his shop filled with items from his native country. It was a piece of home, a reminder, a memory of a place he'd probably never see again. That hurt a little.

* * *

**- Calla**


	4. Chapter Four

**The Perfect Mary Sue**

**Melting Pot**

* * *

Living in America, in a small town barely surviving off of college students and ex-soldier families from the local abandoned air base, it was only Caucasians that he serviced on a regular basis. Though physically diverse, the social scene of the natives in the small city was strictly European and unspokenly separated. He could see it in the town, in the schools and social circles. Even politically, the castes were there. While celebrating their diversity, very little would bring the various ethnicities together apart from the annual Christmas and the Fourth of July city wide events. Not that he celebrated those, mind you, though he did favor the fireworks. They were homely in their own way.

Regardless, there were times and places where the groups would merge. At stores and schools, once in a while, one or two coffee brown specters would pour into a sea of white, English melting into Spanish, curly into straight into olive tainted skin the flavor of curry and spice. Even in his shop, he'd witnessed this phenomenon. There were only two regulars that would come in that had any other type of ethnicity apart of the common flavor of the diverse European town. One was a boy, a friend to the imp couple, who would pop in once and a while. He was, perhaps, part Arab, he guessed, maybe Hispanic… maybe. It was hard to tell, not with the pleasant low light in the store and the shade from the weeping willows that hovered over the little hut, like a waterfall of leaves and blossoms.

The boy, he had yet to learn his name, had started to come more frequently recently and the bookkeeper suspected that it was because of his last two regulars, one in particular.

* * *

**Merci - Calla**


	5. Chapter Five

**The Perfect Mary Sue:**

**Mantis**

* * *

They had come in earlier that afternoon arguing like always, shuffling over to the computers nestled across from his register. The two were known to graze his shelves but he had learned through observation that they were mainly here for the usage of his internet and nothing else, especially the girl.

He couldn't tell who the boy was to her, though he was more familiar with him than he was with her. Jason Mantis lived in the house next door. He had rented it right after college and turned it into an apartment/music studio. The boy figured that he was going to be a rock star and the Bookkeeper knew this intimately. More than once had he caught his windows vibrating from the sound of his bass and drum filtering through it.

Mantis never really stopped by except to maybe snag a soda or two, but the girl was in here constantly. And because she was here, he would eventually show up between gigs and work and more work. He was decidedly English with dark hair and light blue eyes, but she? She was other, though like with her other admirer, it was a little hard to tell.

* * *

**- Calla**


	6. Chapter Six

**The Perfect Mary Sue**

Color and Stories

* * *

Her skin was a deep tan. It was light enough to pass as Caucasian, proof enough that an European flavor was mixed into her blood line just like the shade of her hair, a dark auburn, or the rhythms in her speech, a light lilting that was pleasant and strange to the ears. She didn't like hip hop. She couldn't rap. She didn't live in the hood, but what gave her away, what subtly hinted at her secret was her dark nearly blackened eyes, the almost kink to her curls. Color was in her, mixed in with Native American, French, and the most dominant, Scottish-Welch. This information he had pilfered from her here or there between a mid purchase of a random bagel or some stray cookie.

She didn't eat much, but that he found wasn't a problem. She was quiet and a tad of a loner, like all of them were, or in the least introverted enough to keep to herself reading or writing. You see, that is what she did. He watched her, the Bookkeeper, from his stall by the register. His head draped down dripping a small dimpled chin over relaxed partly folded arms. The wiry trees of his wrists tucked hands around a white cotton button up shirt and brown grey slacks. It was what she always did. Log on to some random regular site and read the stories posted there.

She discovered the site in the beginning, when she first came to the store. At that time, she would just devour story after story all day, everyday, until well after the sun had set, although she worked in the early morning. (That too he had pilfered, a bakery in town. She made the bread and the cookies.) It wasn't until a month had passed before he caught her beginning to write her own tale, a tale of suspense, and intrigue, and romance, and drama and…

It was very ambitious, he thought, figured quietly from his hole of a nook. Curious enough, he asked about it one day. "You write?"

* * *

**- Calla**


	7. Chapter Seven

**The Perfect Mary Sue**

**Questions**

* * *

She blinked up at him, stared blankly before pulling green tinted ear buds out of her ears. They nearly popped as she did so. She blushed.

The girl was listening to his music… well, sort of. It was that modern junk sung in his native language. It bewildered him a little, the book keeper, just because he knew she couldn't speak a tattle of it. But he didn't pry and just smiled. "You write. You write, there on the computer." His English was slightly broken. Even with the many years he'd spent in the country, he still had not quite gotten used to the language. He was too old and infamously too impatient, but he got along well enough. He could read and write enough to get by.

The girl frowned turning back towards the terminal she momentarily abandoned. Catching what he meant, she smiled a little and nodded. As I said, she was very quiet.

"What you write?"

"Ah?" She stuttered before bending to gather her things. It was much later than normal and she wanted to get home – Jason's home, not hers. The Book keeper had skillfully pilfered this information at the same time he had harvested the news of where she worked and the secrets behind her ethnicity. She had a home, but she didn't go there. He knew why. Everybody in town knew why and they didn't need to sell her a chocolate chip cookie to figure it out either. But that is neither here or there, at least not now. "Yeah, I—uh…" She licked her lips. "I'm writing a story," she said softly. "I'm going to post it when I'm—when it's ready."

"Oh," he nodded. "May I read it? I like books!"

* * *

**- Calla**


End file.
